184 
Northern and Southern Crops—Howitt’s Rural Eife in England, 
barley are very fine. Grass is nothing thought 
of with us. Millions of acres of the finest 
pasturage and hay are annually given to the 
flames. Our sheep are, however, gradually 
extinguishing those fires. You shall in a few 
years see our wool in your markets, and 
have the hum of the manufacturer on the 
banks of the Fox and the Rock rivers. ,, 
Mr. R. S. Hardwick, of Georgia, writes:—“ Our crops 
are finer in Georgia than I have known them for several 
years. We have a flourishing Planters’ Club in this 
county, and it has already done much for the improve¬ 
ment of agriculture and stock; but much more needs to 
be done. I have exerted myself very much to get my 
brother farmers to read agricultural works, and have 
succeeded with about fifty persons; which, perhaps, is 
the greatest good I have done, except the introduction 
of Berkshire hogs and Durham cattle.” We shall be 
glad of his communication on the facts to which he 
alludes. 
LADIES’ DEPARTMENT. 
For the American Agriculturist. 
Gent. —It gave me pleasure to see the observations 
of Mr. Lewis on the utility and pleasure derivable from 
an occasional reference to the time-honored classics, 
which, as he justly hints, might well be substituted for 
the pernicious light reading which pours in upon us at 
every avenue, finding access to the quiet ingles of the 
country, as well as the luxurious apartments of the city. 
In looking over the late beautiful work of William 
Howitt on “ the Rural Life of England,” I have been 
interested in his corresponding notice of the truly great 
men of past days, who, with rarely an exception, were 
the lovers of the country and the cultivators of the soil. 
Permit me to quote a few passages, perhaps not irrele¬ 
vant to your columns, which may be an acceptable mor- 
ceau to some who cannot obtain the work itself. 
“ Of Cicero, Seneca, the Plinys, I will say nothing. 
We all know how they delighted in their country vil- 
as and gardens. We all know how Cicero, in his 
Treatise on Old Age, has declared his fondness for 
farming, and how, between his pleadings in the Forum, 
he used to seek the refreshment of a walk in a grove of 
plane-trees. We know how, during the best ages of 
the commonwealth, their generals and dictators were 
brought from the plough and their country retreats—a 
fine feature in the Roman character, and one which 
may in part account for their so long retaining the sim¬ 
plicity of their tastes and that high tone of virtue which 
generally accompanies a daily intercourse with the 
Spirit of nature. All this we know; but what is still 
more remarkable is, that Horace and Virgil, two of the 
most courtly poets that ever existed, were both passion¬ 
ately fond of the country, and perpetually declared, in ] 
their writings, that there is nothing in the splendor and j 
fascinations of city life to compare with the serene feli¬ 
city of a rural one. Horace is perpetually rejoicing 
over his Sabine farm; and Virgil has, in his Georgies, 
described all the rural economy of the age, with a gusto 
that is felt in every line. His details fill us with admi¬ 
ration at the great resemblance of the science of these 
matters at that time and at this. With scarcely an ex¬ 
ception, in all modes of rural management, in all kinds 
of farming stock, sheep, cattle, and horses, he would 
be now pronounced a consummate judge; and his rules 
for the culture of fields and gardens, would serve for 
studies here, notwithstanding the difference of the Ital¬ 
ian and English climates.” Yet, as Howitt goes on to 
remrak, these stern warriors and smooth-spoken bards 
of ancient story, were but feebly impressed with that all- 
pervading enthusiasm, for the wonders and beauties of 
divine workmanship now so generally manifested in all 
classes of society, which breathes in the hallowed strains 
of the poet’s lyre, and enters deeply into the spirit of 
our journals and periodicals of ephemeral literature— 
into our books of travel and works of theology and meta¬ 
physics—and which is seen in the whole character of 
society and its institutions. The love of the country 
and its rural occupations has been for centuries a grow¬ 
ing passion, and with what truth does Howitt ascribe 
to Christianity this change, so obvious to all reflecting 
minds ! The soliloquy which follows this just ascrip¬ 
tion is not among the least glowing and beautiful pages 
of this sweet, popular poet and pastoral writer. But 
let us extract a passage or two from what he says cn*a 
subject which more than all others touches the liveliest 
chord in the Christian’s breast. “ Yes ! the only dif¬ 
ference between modern literature and that of the an¬ 
cients, lies in our general advantage over them in this 
particular. It is from the literature of the Bible, and 
the heirship of immortality laid open in it, that we owe 
our enlarged conceptions of natural beauty, and our 
quickened affections towards the handiworks of God.” 
“ The veil which was rent asunder in the hour that its 
Divine Founder consummated his mission, was plucked 
away, not only from the heart of man, not only from 
the immortality of his being, but from the face of nat ure. 
A mystery and a doubt, which had hung athwart the 
sky like a vast and gloomy cloud, was withdrawn, and 
man beheld creation as the assured work of God—saw 
a parental hand guiding, sustaining, and embellishing 
it, and immediately felt himself brought into a kinship 
with it, and into an everlasting sympathy with all that 
was beautiful around him; not simply for the beauty 
itself, but because it was the work of the one Great 
Father—the one Great Fountain of all life and bless¬ 
ing.” We could multiply extracts, but we would rather 
refer your readers to the work itself; and allow us to 
add, we earnestly hope to welcome Howitt and his con¬ 
genial and accomplished “Mary,” one day, to our won¬ 
derful country, so fraught with deep and intense interest 
to spirits like theirs, which the world’s chilling influence 
has so little affected; but we would greet them by the 
hearth stones of our quiet homes, and at our family 
trysts, where the flame of friendship burns purest and 
brightest—and not in our ball-rooms and theatres, those 
great charnel houses of all true sentiment and feeling; 
and not until our transatlantic friends so meet us, as on 
common ground, shall the true genius of our country 
and the effect of our republican institutions be either 
understood or appreciated. Ella. 
To pickle Cucumbers .—Select a sufficient quantity of 
the size you prefer, which, probably, cannot be done at 
one time. Put them in a stone pot, and pour over them 
a strong brine; to this add a small bit of alum, to se¬ 
cure the color. Let them stand a week; then exchange 
the brine for clear water, in which they must remain 
two or three days. Boil the best cider vinegar, and, 
when nearly cool, pour it over the cucumbers, having 
previously turned off the water. Prepared in this man¬ 
ner, with the addition of cloves, alspice, mustard, and 
cinnamon, boiled in the vinegar, pickles of every kind 
will keep for a year. In pickling cauliflower, tomatoes, 
and other vegetables which easily absorb the vinegar, 
the spiced vinegar should be added when cold. 
Sure method of putting out the Fire of Chimneys .— 
The simplest method is to have always in the house a 
certain quantity of flour of sulphur, and, in case of 
catching in the flue, take a handful of it, which throw 
